


When there's nothing left to burn...

by Dartington



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/F, I gave Pam a last name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dartington/pseuds/Dartington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeri Hogarth wasn't a quitter and she didn't like to lose. But in less than 24 hours she'd lost everything that mattered most to her. Survival wasn't enough. She wanted her life back--and she wanted Pam back too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“They’re more Vatican I, and I’m more Pope Francis,” Pam had once said when describing her family. It was an offhand comment, and Jeri, naturally, hadn’t given it much thought. Those thoughts she _did_ indulge, usually stalled out imagining Pam in plaid skirts, knee highs and a crisp, white shirt. Besides, Pam often teased with her Catholicism, and neither had broached it as a serious subject.

But then, as Pam had sat in jail, as no one bonded her out, as she received no visitors— those words had come back to haunt Jeri . A little background checking confirmed her fears: old-school Catholics who loved their daughter, but not “the sin” now also had her three broken Commandments to consider. Her parents disavowed familial responsibility toward their eldest, focusing instead on their two remaining daughters. Pam was alone, had rapidly run through her money, refused to see her former…what? Lover? Employer? Jeri didn’t know how to categorize what they were now. _Over_ , certainly.

The case had moved with surprising speed through the system. Jeri knew the prosecutor, had back-channeled as much information as she could. Between the crime scene photos, the hospital report that noted only Jeri’s defensive wounds and significant loss of blood—there wasn’t much debate that Pam had exhibited reasonable defense of a person in imminent danger. And Wendy’s demise hadn’t been premeditated murder. It was simply an unintended consequence after being forcibly knocked off of the woman she was efficiently slicing and dicing to death.

_And yet,_ mused Jeri, _even in these hellish circumstances, hadn’t Wendy pulled through for her one final, macabre time? Even if by accident, even if against her will?_ Had Wendy _not_ inflicted such grievous injuries against Jeri, Pam might very well have been looking at a far more terrifying scenario. New York seldom saw an acrimonious divorce, with the murder of one spouse committed by the girlfriend of the other, end without someone going to prison. “Just lucky, I guess,” Jeri had overheard Pam say with bitter sarcasm to her defense attorney. She hadn’t seen her since.

Following her acquittal, Pam had been temping with one of Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz’s competitors. Jeri didn’t take that as a good sign, but only in the personal sense. She didn’t feel professionally threatened. Pam may find her “repulsive,” but she still couldn’t picture the woman filing an ethical complaint against her for the misdeeds of her youth. But here Jeri paused, grazed her fingertips across her lips: _was she so different, now, at 48?_

She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell upon those thoughts. Since Pam had all but disappeared from her life, all that remained was work—and an uncharacteristically haunted and demanding conscience. Her law partners had been unable to oust her. She’d started the firm, after all and it was a simple matter of a few well-placed calls, a few favors called in and her considerable clientele list leveraged against the rather tepid attempt to dislodge her. Mostly, that had been for decorum’s sake anyway. Let the firm publically slap her wrist; privately enjoy the uptick in demand that a little trashy publicity never hurt. Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz were reaping the rewards, the firm was stronger than ever. Jeri was in nearly every way, every _professional_ way, better than before. It was just her personal life that still lay bleeding in her former home, with her former wife and her former lover. They were all now part of the “trail of broken people” that Killgrave left behind. Isn’t that what Jessica had said would happen? She should have listened to the girl. She shouldn’t have allowed her hubris to guide her into such incredible tragedy. She had let it go too far.

Jeri glanced nervously up and down the dimly lit lobby. Pam’s new apartment was a far cry from the one she’d previously had, but was still nice enough that a relatively considerable sum had been necessary to bribe the doorman into letting her inside. She took a moment to unkink her neck, rolled her shoulders, felt the now familiar tug where scar tissue ran from blade to blade. An image, red, flashed before her, burning, wet and fearful. She pushed the memory aside, scanned the list of tenants instead: B. Alvigne, M. Amin, K. Burris, F.Dewey… _there_ : P. Elliot. Pam E. Who used to be her Pammy.

A different moment, golden, warm and happy pricked her memory, as unbidden as the sharp sting of tears that glossed her eyes. Jeri swallowed the sadness, the wave of anxiety that threatened her resolve. The ride to Pam’s floor allowed her a few moments of composure. She nervously adjusted a small package tucked under her arm, swept her bangs aside, and cleared her throat. The elevator stopped. She stood still as the doors opened. Now was the last opportunity to simply press a button and return to the lobby. No one would be the wiser. Instead, she strode down the hallway, found Pam’s door, and knocked.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a loud knock on Pam’s door. Pam was startled, she wasn’t going to lie—no one visited her, _no one._ No one called, no one texted. And no one ever, ever knocked.

She’d had work friends, but not anyone truly close. Her relationship with Jeri surmounted the usual office bonding that might have otherwise developed around long hours and demanding bosses. She’d been so, so careful at the office to keep her personal life, _personal_. None of her colleagues had known the extent of her slowly escalating relationship with the firm’s main owner and business director. She’d kept their secret in part because it was thrilling. But there were other considerations: professional jealously, allegations of favoritism or worse. Looming largest was the not inconsiderable fact that Jeri had been married when they’d first…started…and Pam might be many things, (many more dark things than she ever could have imagined _now)_ , but she hadn’t wanted to be a home-wrecker and she wasn’t going to be an easy piece on the side. She’d wanted Jeri free and clear, through the proper channels, done the right way. She’d wanted a clean start. Instead, she’d bludgeoned Jeri’s wife to death and been charged with murder.

“Work friends” evaporated once the proverbial shit had hit the fan. Or in this case, the tabloids. And realistically, her _main_ friend from work, the woman she would have turned to under precisely these circumstances, well that was an awful end to a tragic story. That friend had laid the blame squarely at Pam’s feet. “ _I_ didn’t do anything. _You_ chose to pick up that thing…and _crush_ her skull. _You_ did that.” Pam had sat stunned as Jeri, tense with pain, tight-lipped, became shockingly cold and foreign. As revelations went, it was sweeping.

Now, she frowned apprehensively at the door. All she wanted was to try and relax over a glass of wine and the book her sister Helen had sent from Italy. There was a postcard from Pam’s favorite church, and a note _. “So glad I followed your advice and made the trip here. The Basilica is incredible, the blending of East and West breath-taking. I sent you the best picture I could find of all those little mosaic lambs you loved so much. I love YOU so much. Remember sis, “_ All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.” _You’ve always been my light, Pam, you always will be._ _Be strong and be true, your best and most well-traveled sister, H.”_

Pam hated to think how hard a spot Helen was in. Their parents weren’t easy people. The Elliot’s had high standards and a low tolerance for failure. But she and her middle-sister shared a special bond, parental shunning wasn’t going to change that. It was Pam who’d first encouraged her to pursue the art restoration and conservation degree she’d tentatively mentioned over dinner one night. And it was Pam, again, who researched the best schools with the best semester abroad programs, and had helped fund all of Helen’s undergraduate degree, when their parents balked at such a self-indulgent calling. Now, the random cards she got from Helen were the only things that cheered her. She couldn’t seem to find her equilibrium, couldn’t right herself. Couldn’t go back in time and never, ever be in that God-forsaken house on that God-forsaken day again.

There were three more sharp raps at the door and Pam still couldn’t figure out how to react. She wasn’t expecting anyone. As far as she knew, no one (besides her sister) even knew where she lived. Sure, Jessica had shown up one night, with a 6-pack, a bottle of Jim Beam, a shitty attitude and invited herself in. They were hardly friends, and it had only been that one time. But maybe it _was_ the uncouth P.I. again with more surprisingly kind advice—however couched in sarcasm it might have been. Besides, only Jessica could bypass the doorman. Action decided, Pam uncurled from the sofa, padded up the hallway and unlocked her door.

For the second time in her life, she felt utterly gut-punched. There stood Jeri. Looking exactly like she should: desire and loathing in modest black. Looking like the worst thing that ever happened to her. Looking like a million dollar villain.

Jeri blinked, a half smile ticked across her lips, stopped as quickly as it began. Started again, failed. Instead she opted to simply stand there, stoic and blank. As the moment stretched, she pulled her bottom lip under her teeth and dropped her gaze, looked up at Pam again and wrinkled her brow.

“Pam,” She began in a voice she hardly recognized, “Pam, I know I’m the last person you’d expect to see. I know you didn’t invite me, but—”

“ _No._ ” Pam interrupted, shaking her head, “NO.” She took a half step back, moved to slam the door. But Jeri was faster, wedged her foot in.

“Pam, please. _Please_ …Let me…give me just a minute, just _one_ minute—”

_“NO!”_ Pam shouted. “No, Jeri. _Jesus_. I don’t want you here. I can’t—you _can’t_ be here. It just— Go _home_ , Jeri. There’s nothing for you here.”

Pam’s heart was racing, her body shaking. She felt like she might hyperventilate, she felt like she might explode. And still that horrible woman wouldn’t remove herself! She wanted to slam the door into her over and over again. She wanted to push her down and scream at her: _Why?! Why couldn’t you just give Wendy the damn money? Why’d you have to use a goddamned psychopathic mind-manipulating killer to get a divorce? Who does that? And how could you just wash your hands of the entire thing and walk away? How could you let that man into our lives, and then tell me it was MY FAULT?_

She was breathing heavily and beginning to see spots before she realized she needed to either sit down fast or risk fainting in front of Hogarth. It wasn’t something she was prepared to let the other woman see. With an exasperated groan she turned and walked unsteadily toward the kitchen. She’d get a glass of water. She’d center and focus and then she’d make Jeri leave. She needed to think, she needed to slow down. Or maybe not think. She needed to sit suddenly more than she needed anything else. And she needed to get her heart rate down or she was going to have full-on panic attack in front of the least comforting person she could imagine.

As she sank down onto her kitchen chair, she caught a glimpse of Jeri stepping quickly through the door, bending to flip the latch securely behind her. She watched as the older woman turned her gaze toward her, sizing up the situation, calculating.

_Here goes_ , Pam thought grimly.


	3. Chapter 3

_Here goes,_ Pam had thought multiple weeks before, when Jessica had appeared uninvited at her apartment.

She’d been having another bad night. She’d caught the tail end of a news report on TV—and there was Jeri. Looking exactly the same. And it filled her with a dreadful sort of anxiety and grief. She was getting better at autopilot, at finding ways to fill her time away from work with just enough distraction that she didn’t always have to dwell and dwell and dwell and—

And suddenly there was Jeri Hogarth on TV. Talking about the _justice_ system of all things. How another unwitting victim of Kilgrave’s mind manipulation had been proven innocent. And there next to her, stood a shattered looking man. Too thin, too fragile: Pam knew that look. She saw it often enough in her mirror. As she looked at him, his story came back to her with a vividness few could comprehend. He was one of the two men found with Kilgrave’s father. He’d been stuck making a grisly smoothie until Jessica, speak of the devil, had interrupted him. The guy had been briefly institutionalized, the trauma of his time with Kilgrave too much to bear: his husband murdered, himself accused of murder. Yes, Pam was all too familiar with the destructive wake that Kilgrave left behind.

She’d been hyperventilating on the couch when Jessica had banged on her door. And when Pam didn’t answer, Jess had simply popped the lock and let herself in. It had taken the woman all of three seconds to assess the situation. Instead of the swagger and spite Pam braced for, she’d found herself being awkwardly consoled by Jessica. Before she knew it, she’d blabbed about the news segment, how awful the widower had looked—how she worried she looked like that too—to other people. Here she’d paused and stared at Jessica, willing her to contradict her. The fact that she _hadn’t_ confirmed Pam’s worst fears.

She found herself confessing that she left the apartment less and less. Left for work and groceries, but nothing more. That she had nightmares, that the press still hounded her each and every time another one of Jeri’s clients got acquitted. That she dreaded what tomorrow would bring, now that this latest man had finally gone free. She felt small for saying it, but it was true. Kilgrave was dead and he was still wrecking her life. She stopped then, nearly panting--and waited for Jessica's inevitable caustic comment.

“You’re gonna feel like the eye of a storm for a while,” Jessica had quietly said. “There’s a huge mess going on around you that you’ve been part of. And every time things like this come up, it kicks all that dirt and ghoulish media fodder up again. But you’re okay, Pam. You’re going to be okay.”

Pam had almost, almost started to laugh. But the energy it would have taken seemed incredible. So she’d opted to just keep working on her breath.

“I mean, I know you’re not "okay" now—believe me, I know. But Pam, this one, horrible thing—it _doesn’t_ define you. It’s not suddenly all of who you are and it doesn’t get to rewrite your whole past, your entire future, okay?” She said it urgently, almost as though she was trying to convince herself of something--nearly as much as Pam.

Pam looked blank, but nodded ever so slightly.

“Pam, really. I get it. What you did, you did for love. You were panicked and full of adrenaline. You wanted to save Jeri. And you did. Wendy was out of her mind, possessed by Kilgrave and there was no way she could have stopped—until she’d made her thousand cuts. And you only knocked her down. Where she landed was…really unfortunate. But Pam, look at me.” Jessica grabbed Pam’s chin and leveled their gaze. “I need you to hear me. I need you to hear what I’m saying. Okay? You cracked Wendy’s skull and it would have been _bad_. But nothing in your blow would have been deadly. It was the fucking glass table, Pam. It was a bad fall, a shitty fall. It doesn’t mean she didn’t die. But you’re not a villain, Pam. I know villains. You’re just…you were just in love with a real manipulative asshole who created a situation that was gonna be a no-win. The minute Jeri got Kilgrave involved? No one was going to come out okay.”

Pam winced and at first Jessica thought it was simply because her words had struck a nerve--but then she realized she’d been gripping Pam’s chin with more force than she’d intended. She quickly let go—saw faint red marks against Pam’s pale skin. “I’m sorry for you Pam. I don’t think you deserve any of this. And I’m sorry for you because you really did love her. I mean, I don’t know what love means to _her_ \--but I don’t think you were wrong to want to save her—the woman _you_ knew. But the woman she was, she is? I don’t know about that one.”

Pam’s eyes had slowly been welling, and at this, the tears finally spilled over. She sat there, simply looking at Jessica, tears streaking down her face. She made no move to stop them, didn’t even seem to notice they were falling. Maybe she _didn’t_ know. Maybe tears were just part of life now, like breathing and regret. Jessica found it hard to hold her gaze. She may have once taken delight in tormenting her. But that was when being rude to Pam was just one more way to jab at Jeri, cross lines and be her trademarked surly self. Jessica hadn’t really given much thought to how it might make Pam feel. And now she felt very wrong for that. Pam was…sweet. But she’d gotten in over her head, swimming with sharks.

Jeri should have protected her, but Jeri was the biggest shark of all. What did she know of softness and gentleness? She just meant to bend everyone and every situation to her will. Tragically, she’d managed to find a far more deadly creature than herself. And being the narcissist she was, assumed that a) she was in control and b) could handle it. And look where that had gotten them all. Pam was a pariah, living with the reality of what she’d done, the dichotomy of never having meant to, and the realization that Jeri, to expedite a divorce, chose Kilgrave. But Jeri hadn’t gone to jail, hadn’t had to prove her innocence. Jeri was free, was viewed as noble, heroic, tragic. All the pro bono cases she’d taken for Kilgrave victims had gained her an entirely new kind of reputation. In the end, Jeri had gotten to keep her money, shed her wife—and as an ironic twist, had also gotten Wendy’s life insurance payout.

Jessica looked at Pam. She shook her head. Why was it that the Hopes and Pams, Malcombs and, she swallowed, the _Rubens_ of the world—why did these people get so trampled along the way? But the Jeris and the Dorothys, the Simpsons—hell, even the Jessicas could flourish and find ways to prosper. Jess squeezed her eyes shut and rested her head in her hands. What could one person do in the face of all this mess? There were always so many more assholes out there. The ratio wasn’t fair. There were like, 1% of super villains and super heroes, and then about 80% of opportunistic wank-jobs that idolized both extremes. So that only left about 18% regular, solid people. And she was pretty sure that most of them didn’t live in her city.

The unexpected touch of Pam’s hand on her shoulder startled her from her gloom.

“Jessica? I never thought I’d say this, but, I want to thank you for…for being so nice to me.”

Jessica pulled a face and started to wave off the compliment, but Pam just captured her hands and held them in her own. Jess grit her teeth.

“No. Really. I know we’re not friends, I know we’re not going to be. I know you think I’m stupid and…and naïve to have trusted Jeri. And you’re not wrong about that. But there was something real there, Jessica. It’s not just wishful thinking.”

Jessica carefully extracted her hands from Pam. She looked hard at the girl. Who was she trying to convince? Pam reddened under the gaze, desperate to explain.

“I gave her an ultimatum. I told her to _handle_ it. And she might have done a really, really ignorant thing. I mean, she did. But the problem is—she did it for me. If there’s one thing I know about Jeri, it’s how she wins. She’s a planner. She strategizes every angle, until she knows your argument better than you do. But she needs time to think it through, rehearse it until it’s perfect and flawless and automatic. It’s so choreographed that there can’t be interruptions or any snag to the pace or plan. Because once she loses her momentum—everything falls apart. I think it was too much. Wendy was blackmailing her for more and more money. Jeri told me that Wendy wasn’t very calculating, but…I mean, _why_ keep Jeri’s old emails for that many years unless you think they might be used as some kind of insurance or, I don’t know— _something_. I told Jeri that kind of planning…that’s pretty insightful. But Jeri, she just kept saying Wendy would never really hurt her…” Pam stopped, raised her hand to her mouth. Felt suddenly sick. She took a deep breath through her nose, exhaled sharply. “Wendy was increasing the pressure, mass mailing the general inbox, was getting more aggressive. I’d just given Jeri an ultimatum—and I think she felt like she'd run out of time. She was improvising—”

Jessica scoffed. “Pam, no one forced Jeri into thinking Kilgrave was an awesome solution! She selfishly grabbed onto the first, most sweeping, self-serving solution she could imagine—and fuck her, Pam! Look how it turned out!”

“I know! And I’m not making excuses. I’m just saying that nothing’s so simple as ‘oh—you’re a bad guy because.’ It’s…it’s complicated…” Pam abruptly stopped speaking, and her eyes widened. “It’s complicated,” she whispered again. And for just a flicker of a moment, Jessica could almost swear she’d sounded like Jeri.

“I said it was bullshit,” Pam continued. “I said it was _bullshit_ —but it was _complicated!”_

Jessica wasn’t sure how Pam succeeded in looking simultaneously relieved and stressed—but she balanced it perfectly across her features.

“I mean, I was having an affair with a married woman. What did I think would happen? My dad cheated on my mom. I saw what that did to her, to our family. Everything turned bitter and frightening. Home wasn’t…home anymore. I mean, that was what I grew up with—and I still jumped at the chance to be with Jeri because I was in love? Because it would be different? We all always hope that our story will have a happy ending. But I guess they don’t, really. People suffer.

"When Kilgrave made Jeri take him to a doctor she trusted, when he hollowed out her brain to her most basic impulse— _she went to Wendy_. And if Kilgrave hadn’t ordered Wendy to kill Jeri, I’m not sure…I mean, I’m not so sure that Wendy and Jeri might not have found a way to work things out. I just don’t know anymore. I know Jeri loved me. In her way. I mean—” here Pam raised her hands in defeat. “I know she wanted Wendy to sign the papers. But when Kilgrave had her under his control? Didn’t she still believe in Wendy to do the right thing? That seems like trust. It seems like love to me. I guess I just didn’t count on the fact that with that many years together, even after all the bullshit, they’d still have some residual…something.

“And Wendy? God, Wendy. The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference. And she was not indifferent.”

Jessica opened her mouth—but Pam held up a hand, temporarily silencing her. “I’m just saying, nobody’s faultless here. Not me, not Jeri, not Wendy. I chose to have the affair. I chose to push Jeri. I chose to pick up that awful marble thing, and I, ultimately ended Wendy’s life.”

Jessica shrugged, internally disputing how much Pam actually ‘chose’ in the relationship with Jeri. But if Pam was hell-bent on having an audience, and talking herself though a bad night, it wasn’t like she had anyplace better to be. Jessica grabbed another beer, propped her foot on the coffee table and settled back on the couch. All this girl talk. It was payback for trying to be…good. Wasn’t the road to hell paved with just this sort of fucking stuff? She’d have to ask Trish—the next time _she_ wanted to have a heart to heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer 1: This story is an imaginative work of fiction, intended for entertainment only. I neither own, nor profit from AKA Jessica Jones.
> 
> Disclaimer 2: All mistakes, misspellings, etc. are mine alone. I review and edit myself, but I'm sure a few grim errors will pop up.


End file.
